


The Witcher's Companion

by JaskiersWolf



Series: Canon Era Geraskier Prompts [31]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Friendship, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, but can be read romantically, only at the end though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaskiersWolf/pseuds/JaskiersWolf
Summary: Geralt is summoned to Lettenhove to deal with a fiend when Jaskier is eight. Young Julian promptly decides he will do anything for the chance to travel with Geralt and have adventures outside of his stuffy castle life.Note: the relationship between Jaskier/Geralt is not explicitly romantic. Can be taken as platonic life partners... It's up to you.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Canon Era Geraskier Prompts [31]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1982815
Comments: 52
Kudos: 156





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just addition to the summary note which might be a little spoilery. I didn't feel comfortable making their relationship explicitly romantic as Geralt met Jaskier as a child. That being said they both have a very deep fondness for each other by the end of the fic and Jaskier uses pet names liberally when he has grown up. 
> 
> Now the disclaimery bits are done. On with the story!

When Jaskier was eight years old a fiend prowled around the grounds of Lettenhove castle. 

Young Julian was absolutely enthralled, terrified but completely captivated. At the dinner table he span tales of how a knight would come to defeat the great beast and save them all from a grisly fate. It had been too late for most of their groundsmen and Julian thought the best way to honour his friends would be to avenge them and slay the fiend. 

His parents did not agree. 

Apparently an eight year old was not allowed to fight a fiend, but they did agree to hire a professional, a witcher. Julian was giddy with excitement and made sure he was dressed in his finest clothes. His parents tried to keep him away from the witcher, apparently the monster slayers took young boys like Julian to train to become witchers. Julian thought it all sounded like a brilliant adventure so he snuck into the study where the Viscount de Lettenhove was entertaining the witcher.

“A hundred crowns. That’s my final offer, witcher!” His father sneered at the silver-haired giant. 

Julian gasped as he saw the swords on the witcher’s back. They were huge! One of the swords had a wolf on the hilt, which was far more interesting than the wooden practice sword Julian’s tutor made him use. He wanted a wolf on his sword too! 

“A hundred crowns, no.” The witcher crossed his arms. “This is my job, my life, that’s pittance, my lord. I can leave if you would prefer to deal with the problem yourself, but fiends are nasty buggers. I wouldn’t recommend it. They’re difficult even for witchers.” 

“Father!” Julian cried. “You must pay him properly! He can have my pocket money!” 

“Julian! Go to your room, now!” His father roared.

Julian stood his ground and put a hand on his hip. “No! You’re not being fair!”

The witcher turned to face him and Julian’s jaw dropped. He had the most amazing eyes that Julian had ever seen. They were golden and shining like the sun, like a field of buttercups in the spring, and slitted like a cat’s eyes. Julian was in awe!

The witcher squatted next to him and held his hand out. Julian was raised to be polite so he shook the witcher’s hand. “Julian, right?”

“Yes, Master Witcher!” Julian grinned and nodded enthusiastically. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, heir to this estate!” He gave a bow, just like his tutors had taught him.

“Julian, shut up!” The Viscount snapped. “You leave the boy alone, mutant.”

The witcher ignored his father and just smiled at Julian with a tilt of his head. “How much is your pocket money, Julian?” 

Julian scrunched his nose up and stuck his tongue out as he counted. “Forty, no, fifty crowns a week.”

The witcher seemed surprised by this. “I would need two weeks pocket money, at least, on top of what your father is offering me.”

Julian just grinned. “Done!” 

He wouldn’t be able to afford the lute he’d been eying up in the local market for another month but it was worth it. The fiend was terrorising his home and he didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. His father was a fool if he didn’t see it.

“Julian!” His father grabbed his arm and tried to push him out the room but the witcher pulled him off. 

“I will take the contract. If I succeed, I will be back in two weeks to collect the rest of what I’m owed. Your son is an honourable young lad, my lord. You could learn something from him if you just listened.” The witcher scowled at the Viscount but when his gaze shifted to Julian his expression softened. 

“You will not see a single coin of the boy’s money, witcher.” His father growled. 

Julian tried to protest but his father smacked him over the back of his head. 

The witcher smiled dangerously. “Then the fiend will live a long and happy life. Farewell, Lord Lettenhove.” The witcher spun round and walked from the room without looking back. 

Julian squirmed in his father’s arms but it was too late. The witcher was gone. 

“No!” He burst free and ran from the study, hoping to catch up with the witcher. 

He reached the front door to the castle just after the witcher. His horse was saddled and he jumped up onto his mount. 

“Wait!” Julian cried. 

The witcher trotted round in a circle, glancing back at Julian. His golden eyes were even brighter in the sunlight, the dark slits barely visible now. 

“I’ll pay. Two weeks, witcher, I’ll pay!” Julian said, his voice full of determination and he was proud that it didn’t waver one bit. 

The witcher nodded and rode off down the track, galloping fast. Julian was jealous. The witcher was so free. He could travel and see the world. Julian wanted that. There was so much beauty in the world and he was stuck in a castle like a damsel in distress. 

He vowed that one day he would leave the castle for good and there was nothing his father could do to stop him.

* * *

Of course, Julian’s promise to the witcher was not easy to keep. 

His father grounded him without pocket money. He would have snuck out to the market to sell some of his clothes that he didn’t wear anymore but the fiend stood between him and the town. 

Two weeks passed and Julian had his face pressed against his window, watching for any side on the silver-haired witcher and his gorgeous bay. He had a plan. He’d bundled up some of his finer doublets and jewellery into a satchel. As soon as he spotted the witcher he was going to escape out his window and present the witcher with his offerings. Once the fiend was dead then Julian was going to beg the witcher to take him with him. 

He could become a witcher! That was what the legends said happened to young boys taken by witchers. 

He was so drawn into his own thoughts that he almost missed the sound of hooves hammering on the path. He fell back off the windowsill as he spotted the witcher approach and then scrambled up to double check it was him. 

The witcher’s silver hair flew out behind him as he rode. 

He was magical! A real knight in shining armour. 

Julian flung open the window and clambered out. It wasn’t easy but he’d practiced this a few times now over the last two weeks. He’d almost broken his arm the first time he’d tried, luckily he got away with just a sprained wrist. He shuffled across the window ledge and hopped down onto the lower roof, eventually using the beams of the lower window to scramble down to the floor. He ran to meet the witcher before he could get too close to the house. 

“Witcher!” He waved frantically. 

The man dismounted with the horse mid-canter. It was so graceful. Julian would need a lot more time in the ring with his horse riding tutor before he could manage such a thing. 

“Julian.” The witcher greeted with a gentle smile.

“I’m sorry, witcher. My father stopped my pocket money.” He scowled but pulled the satchel off his shoulder and presented it to the witcher. “You should be able to sell these though. You won’t need any of my father’s coin.”

The witcher hummed and grabbed the satchel. He pulled out a long gold chain. It was a family heirloom, one that marked Julian as the heir of the estate and the title of Viscount, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want it, any of it. 

The witcher tucked Julian’s bag onto the saddle of his horse. “Thank you, and call me Geralt.”

“Can you really kill the fiend?” Julian asked. 

The witcher, Geralt, shrugged. “I’ll try my best. If I don’t succeed then the horse and all that’s on it is yours” He paused. “but don’t drink the potions. You’ll die. Roach will come back here if I don’t return. She’s trained well.”

Julian gasped. “But that would mean… you died?” 

Geralt hummed. “That’s generally how it works.”

“But… but why?” Julian stared up at the witcher wide-eyed. “My father didn’t even want to pay you. Why would you risk it?”

“That’s the job.” Geralt frowned, Julian could see he’d been pulled back into some memory of another place and another contract. “It’s why we exist.”

“Well that’s shit.” Julian decided, taking the opportunity to curse whilst his parents weren’t around. “There’s, there’s got to be more to life than that. Look at the world!” Julian gestured with wide arms. “You get to see all of it!” 

Geralt hummed. 

“I wish I could see it. Will you take me with you?” Julian asked. Geralt shook his head. “Oh come on, please, Geralt!” 

“The path is no place for a child.” Geralt scowled. “You’ll get killed within a week.”

Julian put his hands on his hips and stared up at the witcher defiantly. “I won’t! I’m learning to fight! Master Rhindon says I’m almost ready to start training with a real sword! And I almost always hit the target in archery practice. Come on, Geralt, please take me with you!”

“No.” Geralt said firmly and went to mount his mare. 

“When I’m older!” Julian ran in front of the bay with his hands up. “Come back when I’m older, I’ll train. I can be a travel companion. Give me a chance!” 

“I don’t need anyone.” Geralt grunted. 

Julian sighed dramatically and gave the witcher an exasperated look. “A chance, that’s all I’m asking.”

Geralt hummed and rode off with Julian’s belongings, hopefully to kill the fiend, and not a moment too soon. His mother came running out of the house. 

“Julian! Get away from that freak!” She pulled him back inside the house roughly. “What in the name of Melitele were you thinking, boy?”

“I was saving our villagers, seeing as father refused to pay the witcher. He’s agreed to kill the beast.” Julian held his head up and put both hands on his hips. 

“Foolish boy!” He mother chided but pulled him into a hug. 

Julian groaned into the hug but eventually wrapped his arms around his mother’s waist. She wasn’t all bad. She cared too much, unlike his father who seemed not to care at all. 

He thought about what Geralt had said about the path being too dangerous for a child. He didn’t feel like a kid. He was eight. That was almost double figures and that meant he’d been an adult! He decided to make a list of skills he’d need to the path. 

The witcher wasn’t great with people, that much was obvious but Julian had always been pretty outgoing. He loved people. It was part of the reason he hated being stuck in the house so much, but he could always hone his skills. 

Ooh. He could become a bard! People loved bards. People trusted bards! He loved music and the stories his nurse would tell him. Mother had even agreed to buy the lute for him when his father had stopped his pocket money. He would need a lot of practice, perhaps he could even leave the castle to study it. That was an adult thing, right? Studying. That’s why his father had a study. 

Then of course he would need to master his sword and archery. He knew that Master Rhindon would be training him in fencing, rather than swordsmanship. The wooden sword he had at the moment was only really to get his footwork right and get used to the basic attacks and parries. He’d have to persuade the older man to teach him proper sword skills. His archery needed work too but at least they would let him use a proper bow. 

Then Geralt had mentioned potions. A knowledge of healing then. If he did go to study music when he was old enough then he could try and take a class in medicine. In the meantime, his nurse knew some basics. She’d patched him up enough times after he’d fallen out of trees or down the stairs, even after he’d gotten in a fight with one of the stable boys, which in his defence had not been his fault. The boy hadn’t appreciated Julian’s poem that he’d written about the gorgeous black stallion in the stables, his mother’s horse. Julian had been very proud of it and the bastard had declared that it was stinkier than the horse’s stall. 

And the horse’s stall stank like shit!

So he’d punched the boy hard. Not hard enough though, he’d ended up with a black eye and a fractured finger. 

He didn’t regret a thing. 

“We just don’t want to lose you to that monster, my petal.” His mother cooed and stroked his hair. 

He wrestled out of her arms and glared fiercely up at her. “I did the right thing, mother” He insisted. “And he isn’t a monster! He protects us from monsters.”

His mother’s eyes flared angrily. “You don’t know what you’re saying, Julian.”

“I do!” He pouted. “But you won’t believe me. You never do.”

His mother sighed and cupped his cheek. “Come inside, petal. I have something for you. Let’s forget about all this talk of monsters.”

Julian nodded but in his mind he knew he wouldn’t forget. He had his mission and there was nothing in the whole continent that would stop him now. 


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt hadn’t been paying much attention to where he was going. He’d just been following the path, his last contract had paid well and if he was lucky then he would even managed to stop by the whore house next time he reached a town. It wasn’t until he heard someone shouting his name that he even realised where he was. 

Lettenhove Castle.

He hadn’t been back since the fiend. He scowled as a boy came running up the path with a sword strapped to his waist and a lute on his back. 

“Geralt!” The boy cried. 

Geralt couldn’t stop the small smile on his face. He would recognise those bright eyes anywhere. 

Julian. 

He was taller than the last time Geralt had seen him, and he’d certainly filled out, but he was still a boy. 

Geralt dismounted Roach and went to greet the young lad. “Julian.” He nodded. 

“I can’t believe you came back!” Julian beamed up at him. “You haven’t change a bit!”

Geralt shrugged. “Didn’t mean to, and the mutations do wonders for wrinkles.”

Julian visibly deflated. “You didn’t mean to, no of course you didn’t. Why would you?”

“Julian.”

“Save it, Geralt.” The boy muttered. “You are not welcome here. My mother would release the dogs if she saw you.”

“And your father?” Geralt crossed his arms. 

“Dead.” Julian didn’t sound particularly bothered by that fact. It must have happened a few years ago. “Last winter. He got sick, never got better.”

Geralt frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Julian spun round to peer at him again. Those brilliant cool blue eyes watching him fiercely. “Why are you here, Geralt?”

Geralt raised his chin. “I was in the area.”

Julian scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Oh sure. He was in the area. Fucking witcher.” 

“I’ve offended you.” Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

“Years! Geralt! I’ve been throwing myself into training and studying and anything I can think of that will prepare me to travel with you for years!” Julian prodded his chest. “And you weren’t even going to come back!”

Geralt frowned. “How many years has it been?” He asked. “You’re still a boy.”

“I” Julian announced with wide arms. “am the Viscount de Lettenhove!”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “How many years, Julian?”

“It’s been five years, I’m thirteen, in case you were wondering.”

He was. 

“And it’s not been easy either. I had to find excuses that weren’t witchery for every single thing that I learned.” Julian pouted. “And you just forgot about me.”

Geralt scowled. He hadn’t forgotten per se. It was just that he’d been busy. He hadn’t even been back to Kaer Morhen for the last two winters. There had been an unusual spike in monsters just before winter each year. He’d sent word to Vesemir this year, worried that a pattern might be occurring. The old witcher suggested that either the monsters were beginning to evolve, or someone was helping them out during the winter months. 

Eskel hadn’t been able to return to the keep either, Geralt had met up with his friend outside Vizima. Eskel had looked as exhausted as he felt. Neither of them had managed to have a proper break in two years and they were starting to feel it. 

Perhaps Vesemir’s theory about a mage or sorcerer making trouble wasn’t too far off. Tired witchers got killed more easily. Preventing them from returning to their homes for winter would, in the long term, be fatal. He would have to see if he could track down the source of the spikes. He desperately needed to rest this winter, or next winter at the least. 

He looked back down at the boy in front of him. He was pouting with one hand on his hips, his brown hair had grown out since Geralt had last seen him and now covered his ears, his fringe falling in front of his cornflower blue eyes. Geralt’s gaze fell on the sword at the young viscount’s hip. 

He drew his sword from his back and pointed at the boy’s chest. His eyes widened and he stumbled back a few steps. 

“Geralt? What, what are you doing?” He stammered. 

Geralt smirked. “You’ve been training?”

“Yes.” Julian gulped, a faint blush on his cheeks. 

“Go on, draw your sword, prove it.” Geralt swished his own sword through the air lazily and shifted into a sparring stance.

“My mother will have your head, witcher!” Julian snapped but fumbled to draw his sword. 

“If there had been bandits on the path, you would be dead already.” Geralt chided.

Julian rolled his eyes and lunged in for an attack. Geralt parried the blow easily, he could have dodged but there was no point. He used the parry to pull Julian’s sword from his grip. “You’re holding your sword wrong. No wonder you can’t keep hold of it.” 

Julian yelped as Geralt spun round and pulled Julian to his chest, holding his sword to his neck. “Dead.”

“I wasn’t ready!” The boy protested. 

“Monsters don’t care if you’re ready. Again!” He pushed Julian away.

Julian scrambled to find his sword on the ground. “Geralt we need to move away from the house. My mother—”

Geralt sighed and sheathed his sword. “There’s a clearing nearby, next to the river. Make your excuses and meet me there in an hour.” 

Julian’s face lit up. “Oh thank you! You won’t regret it.”

“Only for this afternoon.” Geralt said firmly. “You’re still too young to come with me.”

Julian’s face dropped. “Geralt!” He whined. 

“One hour.” He gave Roach a quick stroke on her muzzle before mounting. The hour would give him time to meditate and eat. He was tired and could do with the rest. 

He spurred Roach on and galloped back down the path before veering off into the woods. He had to slow to a canter as he darted through the trees, ducking under the branches. He focussed his senses to scout the area for monsters or wolves but the woods were silent, only the sound of the wind whistling through the trees. There was a faint smell of a bear but the beast must have moved off. He reached the clearing and hopped off Roach, leaving her loose so she could graze the area. 

Geralt took the opportunity to wash up in the river. He hadn’t managed to have a proper bath in a while, another thing to do when he reached the next town. Baths and whores. Not a bad way to spend the evening. 

So why was he waiting for a thirteen year old boy in the middle of a clearing?

The kid had a good heart, he’d been kind to Geralt all those years ago. That was why. Geralt was just returning the favour. Perhaps once the boy’s mother passed he would have a friend in the Viscount and somewhere warm to stay in the castle. It always helped to know where he could rely on help. So far his best bet away from Kaer Morhen was Nenneke at the temple of Melitele and that could be weeks away, not much good if he got injured on the wrong side of the continent. Lettenhove could make a good base for the witchers if he managed to befriend Julian now. 

He finished washing and pulled on his clothes. The water was icy cold, even in the spring, but it hadn’t bothered him. He searched Roach’s bags for something to eat and then sat down on the grass to watch the river flow as he ate. 

The sun began to set before Geralt realised how much time had passed. He felt the cool evening breeze brush against his face and he opened his eyes, instantly scowling around he clearing. He sniffed as he got to his feet. There was no sign of Julian and it had certainly been more than an hour, judging by the sun it had been almost three. 

He left Roach by the river and slowly made his way back towards the castle on foot. It wasn’t far and this way he was less likely to knock the boy off his feet. He was almost back at the castle when he spotted Julian running through the doors. He had a bow on his back and his sword around his waist. 

Geralt stayed hidden in the trees as the boy scampered past him. He smirked and spun round, hitting Julian with a weak Aard spell. It was enough to push Julian forward but not enough to knock him to the ground. Geralt drew his sword and shifted his stance. 

“You’re late, Julian.” He called as Julian twirled round already drawing his sword. 

Good. He was learning already. 

“Mother!” Julian rolled his eyes. “She wouldn’t let me out of her sight. I think she knew I was up to something.” 

His grip was still wrong and Geralt flicked his wrist as he had before to disarm the boy. The sword went flying and Geralt laughed. 

“Bollocks!” Julian stamped his foot and then squeaked as Geralt lunged for him. This time the boy rolled into a dodge and picked up his sword, raising it above his head before Geralt’s blow could hit. “Ha!” He grinned. 

Geralt hummed and nodded. “Good.” He sheathed his sword and gestured for Julian to come closer. “Let’s sort out that grip.”

“But Master Rhindon—”

“Is wrong. Come here.” Geralt said firmly. “If we don’t correct that now you’ll be stuck with the habit for life, and that won’t be a long life.” 

Julian pouted but stepped forward. Geralt gently adjusted his grip on the sword. “Like that. Do you know any sequences?”

Julian nodded. 

Geralt gestured for Julian to show him. The boy stuck his tongue out as he began to step through a defence sequence with his sword. His gripped shifted back within two moves and Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “Grip!” He barked. 

Julian almost dropped the sword but adjusted his grip, wrong. Geralt rolled his eyes. It was going to take some time to break that habit. “We’ll go to the river. You’ll be late home.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” Julian glared up at him petulantly. “Mother thinks I’m in bed.”

Geralt nodded. “I’ll stay a week to train you in exchange for food, deal?” 

Julian grinned and held out his hand. “Deal!” 

Geralt scoffed but shook the boy’s hand. “You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Julian nodded. “I know.” 

Geralt smiled at Julian’s admittance. It was a good sign. Yes, the boy was undoubtedly stubborn, but Geralt could hardly blame him for that. In his eyes a bit of stubbornness was good for the soul, and Julian had a good soul. It was why he was taking the time to train him, even if Julian changed his mind about coming with Geralt at least Geralt would know that he’d done his best to ensure the young viscount could defend himself. There would inevitably be duels or assassinations. There always was with nobility, plus it made a change from killing monsters for coin. 

They reached the clearing, Roach was thankfully still grazing near the river, and continued training. They trained until well after dark. Julian had protested once they sun had set completely but Geralt insisted that it was good to learn to fight without relying on his eyesight. 

“You never know when it could be taken from you.” Geralt grunted. 

Julian whined but to his credit kept going. 

He improved quickly, even landing a blow on Geralt’s shoulder when he’d been distracted by the sound of leaves crunching nearby. Julian had instantly dropped his sword to make sure he hadn’t actually hurt Geralt. The blow hadn’t even cut his armour but it would probably bruise. 

Which meant the sword was shit. A witcher’s sword would have at least left a scratch. 

“You need a new sword.” Geralt grumbled. 

“Master Rhindon says—”

“Master Rhindon knows shit all.” Geralt growled. “By the end of the week you’ll be a better swordsman than that so called master.”

Julian stifled a yawn but he couldn’t hide it from Geralt’s enhanced senses, not even in the dark. Geralt glanced up at the moon. They’d been training half the night. He hummed and sheathed his sword. He scooped up Julian and dumped him into Roach’s saddle.

“What, Geralt?” Julian cried. 

“I’m taking you home. It’s late.” Geralt grumbled and led his mare by the reins back to the castle. 

Julian fell asleep in the saddle on the short journey back. Geralt rolled his eyes and shook the boy awake before helping him back to the ground. Julian yawned and rubbed his eyes. 

“After breakfast. I’ll be waiting.” Geralt muttered. 

To his surprise the young viscount hugged him. He awkwardly patted the boy on the head before pushing him towards the house.

“Thank you, Geralt. I’ll make you proud!” 

Geralt allowed himself to smile as the boy ran to the house. He was already proud, not that he would ever admit it to the boy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was one of my favourite chapters in this story. I just enjoyed the interactions between Geralt and Jask, and the training. I dunno. I am proud of it. 
> 
> But let me know what you think! Next up is the next chapter of my teacher fic! I'm also working on a one-shot sequel to The Shape of Love to celebrate it reaching 700 kudos! (Wtf guys that's amazing for me thank you!!) 
> 
> Any hoo I'm on [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/) so come say hi! :D
> 
> \- Yaz


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick TW note: Canon-typical gore, mentions of vomiting, and alcohol in this chapter.

Oxenfurt! 

Jaskier felt like he was whole new person in this glorious city. He had a new name, a new home, a new lease of life. 

The city was filled with music, and booze, and beautiful people who loved music and booze! Oh for the love of Melitele herself, he was home!

His studies were going well. He excelled at the arts just like he’d expected. His passion for all the beauty in the world had served him well. He had already been a master lute player by the time he’d started classes at the university, and unlike most of his peers he already had a few compositions up his sleeve. His most successful ones were about Geralt.

He sighed wistfully. 

He hadn’t seen the witcher since the week they spent training together when he was thirteen. That was three years ago now, but the memories were still fresh in his mind. He’ll admit that Geralt had probably been his first crush, before he really knew what that meant, but now that Jaskier had spent a year at the university learning more about himself and about love, looking back on his time with Geralt was a real eye opener. 

He had hoped that Geralt would return again before he headed off to study at Oxenfurt, but he had left home with a heavy heart. He wondered whether Geralt would be able to find him here in the city. 

On top of his studies in music he had also been badgering the medical students and professors to show him what they knew. None of them knew anything about witcher potions which had been very disappointing but he did know basic alchemy and he knew how to stitch up some smaller wounds. 

It had taken him a while to get that one right. The first time he’d tried on the dead pig he threw up all over the floor, but that had been a long time ago. The skills had also saved his own arse a few times. He did have an unfortunate habit of finding trouble. He’d been kidnapped by bandits once when he’d left the city to stroll through the local woods. He’d ended up with a nasty stab wound in his leg but once he’d finally managed to escape his bonds and get back home, he’d treated the wound himself with only a little help from one of the professors. 

The next time he had left the city he didn’t forget his sword and bow. When the bandits attacked he’d been ready and they were left dead, or near dead, in their camp. 

Geralt would have been proud of him. 

Only Geralt was still nowhere to be found. 

He pouted and sipped his drink. “Stupid witcher.” He grumbled. 

“Julian!!” 

He groaned and hit his head on the table. He was too drunk to deal with Valdo. He just wanted to be left in peace and pine over his witcher by himself. 

“Fuck off!” He called back. 

“Come on, you noble prick!” Valdo smiled too sweetly at him. “Play that song about that witcher of yours.”

“Not my witcher.” Jaskier grumbled. 

“If you play, it’ll make my set sound so much better.” Valdo cackled. 

Jaskier grumbled. It took every ounce of his control not to throw his dagger at Valdo’s head. He took a deep breath and plastered his own fake smile on his face. 

“The only reason it will make your set better, darling,” He stroked a finger along Valdo’s cheek. “is that you will inevitably steal all my ideas. Now fuck. off.” He poked the wannabe troubadour in the chest and went back to drowning his sorrows. 

He was sixteen for Lillit’s sake! He was a fucking grownup. Geralt should have come for him by now. 

Valdo didn’t back off. “Julian!” He whined and Jaskier glared at him. The idiot had gone through his records in first year and discovered Jaskier’s real identity, he now refused to use Jaskier’s chosen name. “My sweet, sweet Julian.”

“Fuck off!” Jaskier snapped. 

“Such a spoilsport, always with that sword of yours strapped to your waist. Can you even use it? Did your lover, the witcher, give it to you?”

Jaskier saw red and he had his dagger at Valdo’s throat in an instant. 

Geralt had given him the sword on their last day of training. It was gorgeous and it was sharp as a razor. He’d almost killed Master Rhindon the next time they’d trained together. The sword master hadn’t been expecting Jaskier’s newfound skills and Jaskier had easily landed a blow on the man’s arm, nicking an artery. It had only been Jaskier’s quick thinking that had saved the man. He’d pulled off his shirt and made into a bandage, wrapping the wound tightly before calling for a healer. He had been more careful with the sword after that. He stopped using it in training when he was sparring against a partner until he was sure they would be able to defend themselves properly. 

“Help me!” Valdo cried helplessly. 

Jaskier growled and pushed the man away. “I told you to fuck off!” 

Valdo collapsed to the ground, panting heavily and glared up at him. “You little shit. I’ll report you for that!” 

“Be my guest.” Jaskier tucked his dagger back into his boot. “And I’ll tell the Chancellor that you’ve been shagging his daughter.”

Valdo gaped. “How did you—”

Jaskier grinned. “I have my sources.”

His sources. The Chancellor’s son, who Jaskier may or may not have also shagged. 

But Valdo didn’t need to know that. 

“You bastard.” Valdo hissed through gritted teeth. 

“Write a song about it.” Jaskier smirked. “You won’t have to steal one of mine for a change!”

Valdo launched at him and they ended up brawling on the tavern floor until they were pulled apart by some local guards and dumped into he street. 

“Julian?” 

Jaskier gasped and scrambled to his feet. He knew that voice! 

“Geralt!” He cried and flung his arms around the witcher, not realising that the man was covered head to toe in monster guts. “Oh fucking hell, shit, Geralt!” 

He heard Valdo’s laugh behind him and grinned. Valdo Marx was a lover of finer things, just like he was, only Valdo had no stomach for the rougher things. He spun round and pulled the other bard in training into a hug.

“Isn’t this nice, Valdo?” He cooed. 

“Oh gods, I’m going to be sick!” Valdo whined… and then did just that, all over Jaskier’s feet. 

“Oi! No. Oh cock!” Jaskier hopped around. “Geralt, help me!” 

The witcher was scowling at him but Jaskier saw the faint smile on his lips. “Hmm.”

“Oh fuck off, then. Actually, no, don’t.” He pulled off his boots and threw them into a nearby bush. He hopped bare foot over to the witcher. “Come with me. My dorm is nearby, you need a bath.”

Geralt grunted. “So do you.”

Jaskier put one hand on his hip and tilted his head. “And whose fault is that?” He pointed accusingly at the witcher. 

“Yours.” Geralt said flatly. 

Jaskier considered that. He had been the one to hug Geralt. “Fine.” He mused. “But you at least owe me a drink!”

“A bath first.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier grinned. “Yes. Right. Yes, follow me!” 

Jaskier prattled away as he led Geralt through the streets of Oxenfurt, catching his friend up with the last three years of his life. Geralt hummed and grunted in more or less the right places but didn’t say anything, not offering up any tales of his own. Jaskier didn’t care. He carried on with his monologue quite happily. It was obvious the witcher had had a rough day. Jaskier’s talking was mostly for himself, he didn’t require a response. He easily ignored the stares they received from strangers in the street. Even in Oxenfurt, a city known for its liberalism, witchers weren’t exactly welcome, especially not ones covered in monster guts.

“Sooo…” Jaskier nudged his shoulder against Geralt’s, he was almost as tall as the witcher now, only a few inches shorter. “How have you been?”

Geralt grunted and glared straight ahead. 

“That bad huh?” Jaskier sighed. “Well, after a nice long soak you’ll be right as rain!”

“I didn’t come here to find you, Julian.” Geralt snapped. 

Oh ho ho. He was definitely a grumpy witcher today. Jaskier couldn’t remember seeing him so grumpy before. He’d always been gentle and caring. Perhaps he was kinder to children and Jaskier was hardly a child anymore. 

“It’s Jaskier.” He hummed, feeling slightly dejected. 

“What?” Geralt turned to face him with flaming golden eyes. 

“My name. I never liked Julian very much, so I thought… university!” He gestured widely to the surrounding city. “No better place to be reborn! I went through a few names. I wanted something sweet, something lyrical and warm like the music I want to bring into the world. Why not flowers? I thought. Everyone likes flowers.”

“I don’t” Geralt grumbled. 

Jaskier scoffed. “Yes you do. You know this whole ‘I am night itself’ thing you’ve got going on, I’m not buying it.” 

Geralt grunted. 

“Anyhoo! Flowers, I thought Marigold at first. I wanted a yellow flower.” He didn’t add that the yellow reminded him of Geralt’s eyes. Oh no. That would be ridiculous. “But that was shit. So I tried Dandelion. That was better. Dandelion lasted a few weeks. Then one day I walking through the market and saw a patch of buttercups by the edge of path and that was it. Jaskier was born!” He grinned widely at his old friend. 

“Hmm.” Geralt was still scowling but there were signs of a smile there. 

“I knew you’d like it.” Jaskier winked. 

“I never said that.” Geralt grumbled. 

“My dear witcher, you never had to.” Jaskier patted his arm and then grimaced at the blood covering his hand. 

Geralt stopped abruptly and stared at him, amber eyes studying him like he was some kind of animal in a cage. Jaskier tilted his head and then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping the blood off Geralt’s face. 

“You’re a mess, Geralt.” He laughed with fond exasperation. 

“You’ve changed.” Geralt stated, tilted his head. “You seem… lighter?”

Jaskier put a hand on his hip and tossed his fringe from his eyes. “And you’ve become all cantankerous in your old age.” He teased. 

Geralt, to Jaskier’s surprise, laughed. “You sound like Lambert.”

Jaskier stared up at Geralt wide-eyed. The witcher was finally opening up! Oooh this was good. 

“Fuck!” Geralt strode off down the road, in the opposite direction to the university.

“No, no, no. Geralt!” Jaskier trotted after him. “Geralt! Wait. You’re going the wrong way!” 

“I don’t need a bath.” Geralt grumbled. 

“Oh fuck that. Look at you, you brute.” Jaskier grabbed the witcher’s arm. Geralt could have pulled away but he didn’t. He let Jaskier lead him back to his room. 

The bath was a messy affair. Jaskier went first. He only had to wash off the blood that had transferred from Geralt in the hug. Geralt waited on the bed, facing the wall whilst Jaskier cleaned up, and then it was the witcher’s turn. It took multiple buckets of water to get all the gore from Geralt’s silver hair and the witcher protested when Jaskier dumped his clothes in the bin. He tucked Geralt’s armour in the corner of the room but the shirts underneath just had to go. Under his clothes, Geralt had a deep cut on his side. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier pouted. “You didn’t tell me you were injured!” 

Geralt grunted and Jaskier flitted around the room to gather up his medical supplies. He felt a bubble of excitement in his chest. This was it. He was finally able to prove he could be a companion to the witcher. Once Geralt was finished in the bath and lying on the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist, Jaskier tended to wound. Geralt winced as Jaskier stitch it up as carefully as he could but stayed silent until after the bandages were in place. 

“Thank you, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier patted the witcher on his shoulder. “No problem, Geralt. Stay here for a few days. Rest.” 

Geralt opened his mouth to protest. 

“Stay!” Jaskier insisted, putting his hand over Geralt’s mouth. 

Geralt glared but nodded. 

In the end Geralt stayed with him for two days whilst he recovered from the fight. It had been a giant centipede apparently. Geralt had been taken off guard when the insect had burst free of the ground underneath his feet and gored him with its pincers. Geralt had managed to slice his silver sword through the beast’s belly whilst it had been caught in a magic trap and the guts had covered the witcher as the centipede died. Apparently, Geralt had been lucky not to have been poisoned but the witcher mentioned that he did have a potion for that, in small golden bottle. 

Jaskier devoured up the information like a starved dog at the butchers. He scribbled down notes the whole time that Geralt spoke to him. He wanted to know everything. The gory details made his stomach turn a little but he was determined to get better with that so he didn’t protest. 

On the second day, Jaskier trailed Geralt back to the stables near the edge of town. He still had Roach, although she was looking more frail than she had last time Jaskier had seen her. He offered her an apple which she took greedily before nuzzling Jaskier’s hand. 

“Hmm.” Geralt watched the interaction carefully. “She hates people.”

“I wonder wherever could she have learnt that from.” Jaskier gave Geralt a wink and continued to pet the horse. 

“You’re not coming?” Geralt asked for the second time. 

Jaskier reluctantly shook his head. “Not this time.”

He had to laugh at the irony. He’d been begging Geralt to take him away for years and now the witcher was finally offering it, he was turning it down, but he wanted to finish his studies. He still had a lot to learn about all manner of things, but mostly about himself. The boy from Lettenhove was gone. Julian had been trapped under his father’s thumb until the age of twelve and then controlled by his mother until he’d escaped to Oxenfurt at fifteen. Julian had just needed an escape and Geralt offered that, a shining hope, a purpose. Now he was at Oxenfurt he was learning who he could be without the demands of Lettenhove, and he found he rather liked that person. Geralt was no longer is only option in life and that somehow made him want it even more. 

It was now his choice.

He could be anything. He could return home to be the rightful Viscount de Lettenhove. He could stay in Oxenfurt and teach once he finished his own degree. He was good enough, his professors had already mentioned it as an option. He could become a bard and sing in court, like Valdo wanted in life, or travel around the world singing his creations and entertaining the masses all around the Continent. He could focus on medicine and become a healer. With his skills of persuasion and swordsmanship he could probably even become a spy!

But he still wanted Geralt. He wanted to experience the world by the side of the witcher. 

Geralt hummed and nodded as he mounted Roach. 

“I’ll find you.” Jaskier promised, grasping the witcher’s hand in his. “Once I’ve graduated and seen some of the world for myself. I’ll find you.”

They shook hands and then Geralt was off. 

Jaskier watched him go with a flutter of regret in his stomach. He was sure in his decision. He knew he needed this, but he couldn’t help but wonder whether he would see the witcher again. 

Gods, he really hoped he would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo we're halfway through. Say goodbye to little Julian. He was sweet and I loved him but it's now Jaskier's turn to shine! :D 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/) :) I do take prompts! If you aren't on tumblr then you can leave prompts in the comments. I always try to respond to comments within a day or two :) If you leave an ask on tumblr with a prompt then it won't be answered until the fic is ready to post but I may message to clarify some details! 
> 
> \- Yaz


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt limped down the path away from the mountains with the fucking lute strapped to his back. What the fuck was he going to do with a fucking lute?

He snarled and tugged at Roach’s reins before putting one foot, his less injured side, in the stirrup and pulling himself up onto the horse. The road was dusty and sun was scorching hot in the sky. His head was pounding as the bright light burned his eyes. His eyes weren’t adjusting well from the dark cave to the sudden brightness of the valley. His senses were too alert following the bashing he’d taken by the elves. 

Filavandrel had put a stop to Toruviel’s ruthless attacks but the she-elf had been vicious and Geralt hadn’t been prepared to fight her unless he had to to defend his life. As a result he now had a painfully twisted knee from where the elf had knelt on it. It had all been anticlimactic after he’d managed to talk the elf king down from killing him and gold had passed hands. Filavandrel had given him the lute as a way to apologise for his injuries. 

He scoffed. 

He supposed he could sell it, but he knew nothing about lutes and any merchant with a brain would probably give him half of what the instrument was worth. Perhaps he could try and keep it safe until Jaskier found him again. 

He scowled and pushed that thought away. 

He’d been trying not to think about Jaskier, the lad he’d trained by the river, the kid so determined to become a friend and a companion to him, and the young man who’d rejected Geralt’s offer. Geralt was used to not feeling much. He’d been trained to suppress emotions from an early age but Jaskier’s rejection had stung. 

When the boy had first begged Geralt for a chance to tag along, Geralt had been sure that it was just the foolish dreams of a naive child, but then when he’d stumbled across Lettenhove, Jaskier had been bitterly disappointed that Geralt hadn’t come sooner. He’d given up his time to train the boy because he’d thought that was what he wanted. 

Geralt hadn’t intended to see him again until he was eighteen but Destiny had intervened. He’d ran into Jaskier at Oxenfurt and the young bard had treated him with such care and kindness that Geralt hadn’t been able to resist asking him along. 

But Jaskier had said no.

He hadn’t been expecting that. He was angry at himself for letting his guards down, for letting hope in. Of course Jaskier had said no. By sixteen he’d started to make a life for himself. Why would he throw that all away for a witcher?

Geralt grunted. “Come on Roach.”

His mare picked up pace into a light trot back towards Upper Posada. He would tell Nettly that the devil problem was solved and head on his way. He’d keep the traitorous lute for now. He’d give it another two years before selling it. A voice in the back of his head told him he could always visit Oxenfurt to see if Jaskier was there, but he growled and ignored it. 

If Jaskier wanted the damn lute then he would have to come and get it.

* * *

Geralt grumbled all the way down the path from Kaer Morhen. He hadn’t meant to pick up Jaskier’s lute again. He’d told himself he would carry it for two years and those two years were up. He had intended on leaving the damned thing up at the keep. If the bard wanted a possibly enchanted elven lute then he would find Geralt, just like he’d promised. 

He wasn’t sure why Jaskier had gotten under his skin so much. He was just a human. 

Geralt growled at this own thoughts and spurred Roach on faster. 

He was used to humans taking back their word. Why was this time bothering him so much?

He accepted his foul mood and headed back into the world, feeling a lot less rested than he normally did after wintering at Kaer Morhen. Lambert had been particularly irritating this year. The redhead had picked up on his bad mood and had taken every opportunity to piss him off, even Eskel, who was usually more tolerant of Geralt’s moods, had had enough. They’d practically thrown him from the keep at the first sign of melting snow. 

The lute was heavy weight on his back, heavier than it had any right to be. It was like siren’s call back to Oxenfurt. 

He should burn the damned thing for firewood. 

Then maybe Jaskier would let him go, would let him get some fucking sleep. 

But of course, he wouldn’t do that. The lute wasn’t his. It had been a long time since he’d thought of the lute as his. It was Jaskier’s lute now. Geralt was just looking after it for him. He’d been looking after it for two years and now he was too fucking stubborn to give up. The bard would not win this. 

He made his way to the nearest village and subsequent tavern. He needed a drink, a celebration of spring was the excuse he told himself. The tavern was unusually lively for this far north, especially this early in the spring. He almost turned away when he heard the chatter from inside and the strum of lute strings. He wasn’t in the mood for music, but he couldn’t walk away. 

There was something about the bard’s voice.

Something familiar.

He took Roach to the stables and headed inside. His eyes immediately met a pair of vibrant cornflower blue ones. Jaskier winked at him as he sang and spun round in a playful dance. The bard hadn’t even missed a beat. Geralt smiled softly as made his way to the bar, Jaskier had been expecting him. He’d been looking for him, and Geralt suddenly felt lighter than he had in years. 

He traded coins for ale and sat down in the corner of the tavern to wait for Jaskier to finish his performance. He was singing a tale about bandits lurking in the forests waiting to kidnap innocent passers-by, about the knight in shining armour who would save them, a knight that sounded remarkably similar to Geralt. 

He scoffed and shook his head with a fond smile. Sentimental fool. Geralt was no knight, maybe once upon a dream but that notion had been burnt out of his heart very early on in his life as a witcher. 

Jaskier had yet to learn that lesson.

“I was saving this table for a friend.” Jaskier was leaning against a nearby beam and smirking at him. 

He’d grown… again. 

Geralt tilted his head as he took note of the changes. There was very little left of the young lordling he’d first met twelve years ago. Julian had been raised in a strict noble family, and whilst he’d always been petulant, he’d held himself like a young noble should. Jaskier, the man before him, was nothing like that. He was relaxed and open in his body language, more expressive than anyone Geralt had ever seen, a complete open book.

The only thing that hadn’t changed were his eyes. 

Geralt could still see the stubborn young lad that had been determined to give Geralt his pocket money in those eyes. The boy who could not get the grip right on his sword, and even the younger bard that he’d found on the floor outside a tavern in Oxenfurt and who’d later tended to his wounds. 

He raised an eyebrow at the bard but made no attempt to move from his seat. 

“Sit down, bard.” He smirked at his old friend. 

“Always so demanding.” Jaskier rolled his eyes but slid into the seat. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“And you never seem to stop changing.” Geralt noted. 

Jaskier beamed. “Well you know what they say about opposites, dear witcher.”

Geralt scoffed. “Opposites attract. This isn’t one of your ballads, Jaskier, and I’m hardly a knight.”

“Oh, you noticed that did you?” Jaskier’s cheeks flushed slightly but his smile didn’t falter.

Geralt grunted and pushed the drink he’d bought for Jaskier across the table. 

Jaskier took it eagerly and downed half of it in one go before launching into a dramatic retelling of his last four years. The bard had been travelling all over the Continent. He’d spent some time in the Royal Court at Cintra before the wanderlust had hit him and he’d ran off back onto the path. After that he’d spent time in temple of Melitele with Nenneke honing his medical skills with the priestess. Geralt interrupted to ask after the priestess, he’d known her for many years, she was always kind to him.

“Oh the sly devil never mentioned she knew you!” Jaskier gaped. “Gods, I must have mentioned you half a dozen times.”

Jaskier grinned sheepishly, his cheeks rosy from the ale. 

“Nenneke knows how to keep her mouth shut, a concept that is unknown to you, Jaskier.” Geralt teased. 

Jaskier stammered and pointed at him. “Oi! I’ll have you know I am very good at keeping my mouth shut!”

Geralt huffed a laugh. 

“Oh fuck off, I mean it, witcher. I’ll have you know that after the temple and dipped my toe into a more clandestine business.” Jaskier pouted. 

“A spy? You?” Geralt raised an eyebrow. 

Jaskier tilted his head. “Me, maybe, maybe not. You don’t get to know that, witcher.” 

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Who for? Temeria?”

“Redania. Oh fuck off!” Jaskier grumbled. “I was good at it! Nobody suspects a bard, but I found all the politics and unnecessary bureaucracy a bore so I got out and came to find you!” 

Geralt felt himself smile, betrayed by the emotions that witchers weren’t even meant to have. He tried to hide the smile behind his drink but he was too slow. Jaskier had seen it and latched on like a dog with a bone. 

“Oh ho ho! You missed me!” He announced gleefully. “Aww, Geralt. I didn’t know you cared.”

“Fuck off, bard.” He grumbled into his drink.

“Nah. I’d rather stay this time.” Jaskier tilted his head and gave Geralt, what could only be described as, puppy eyes. “If the offer is still open, that is?” 

Geralt grunted with a slight nod of his head.

Jaskier jumped to his feet and patted Geralt on the shoulder. “Excellent! I do have a room for the night if you wanted to stay or we could head out now. I’ll follow your lead, witcher.”

Geralt considered the room. On one hand a free room for the night wasn’t to be sniffed at, on the other hand he was itching to get back on the path. Jaskier must have sensed his hesitation and nodded to himself. 

“Let me grab my stuff and tell them my room will be available.” Jaskier winked. “But don’t go running off without me, Geralt.” 

Jaskier poked him on the nose. Geralt blinked and frowned. 

Why had he wanted to find Jaskier again?

He smiled and shook his head as Jaskier strutted up to the bar. Geralt rolled his eyes at the cocky young bard. Oxenfurt had treated him well. He exuded ease and confidence and joy in a way that had been stifled when he’d been younger. Geralt found it suited Jaskier more this way. He enjoyed basking in the warmth his old friend radiated. It made the world seem a little brighter. 

They stayed in the tavern long enough to get a hot meal and supplies before heading to the stables. Geralt had forgotten all about the lute strapped to Roach’s saddlebags until Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he ran over to the mare. 

“Geralt!!” He cried. “What is that?!”

Geralt raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were a bard?”

“Oh yes, well obvious I know what it is!” Jaskier put one hand on his hip and frowned at Geralt. “But why do you have it?”

Geralt shrugged. “Got it from a contract, thought you might like it.”

Jaskier threw his arms around Geralt’s neck. He grunted and stumbled back at the unexpected weight of the bard but tentatively hugged him back. Jaskier smelled like honey blossom and chamomile. He hadn’t noticed that before. It was nice, subtle, not too harsh on his enhanced senses. 

“Thank you, Geralt!” He cooed happily. “I love it! Oh gods it’s beautiful. Where the blazes would a witcher get such a sexy instrument?”

Geralt grunted. “Elves.”

Jaskier gaped and cradled the lute in his hands. “Elves?” He asked wide-eyed and then mumbled something in Elder speech under his breath as he stroked the wood of the lute. 

“Didn’t know where to sell it.” Geralt muttered. “Thought you’d show up eventually.”

“Sell it!?” Jaskier shrieked. “Oh darling no, don’t listen to the big bad witcher. No, Geralt. Absolutely not!”

Geralt shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s yours. You have a horse?”

Jaskier nodded to a white gelding. “Pegasus. He’s a bit of an asshole but I love him.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt assessed the horse. He was overweight and would struggle to keep up with Roach but it was better than Jaskier trailing behind on foot. “Saddle up. Let’s ride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooo we're over half way through this one. Thank you so much for every comment and kudos. I adore hearing your thoughts and it always makes me smile! 
> 
> I have lots of other witcher/geraskier fics posted and more to come so maybe check some of them out?
> 
> Or come find me on [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/)
> 
> \- Yaz


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt was in a mood and it was driving Jaskier mad. 

They’d been travelling together for fourteen years now. Jaskier was now a renowned bard in his own right, and famous for accompanying witchers on their travels. About a decade ago Geralt had finally agreed to take Jaskier back to Kaer Morhen and he’d had the delight of meeting Geralt’s family, the wolf witchers. 

That spring Jaskier had left with Eskel with promise of meeting up with Geralt again in the summer but he’d needed a change. Where Geralt stayed still in time, Jaskier was always twisting and turning like a leaf on the breeze. He loved to travel and sing and explore every part of the world, and that meant learning every witcher’s tale. Eskel had been a laugh and Jaskier had gotten some quite frankly brilliant material out of the witcher, but he’d been happy to return to Geralt in the summer. His White Wolf was a grumpy asshole at times but Jaskier was really rather taken with the man. 

Geralt had been extra grumpy that summer and Jaskier liked to tell himself it was because the silver-haired witcher had been jealous that Jaskier had befriended another witcher. 

By the end of spring Eskel had been a firm friend and they’d parted ways with warm hug, Eskel muttering something about getting a bard of his own. By the next winter he’d showed up with his own companion, a dwarf who was handy with both axe and scalpel. 

Lambert jumped on the band wagon two years after that and returned to the keep with a blond witcher from the school of cat. It turned out the the wolf witchers, when given the chance, were not as lonesome as they first appeared. 

It had just taken Jaskier to remind them that not everyone in the Continent hated them. 

Some winters he still went back to Oxenfurt to teach. As much as he adored Geralt, they did get on each other’s nerves more often than not. When his witcher tolerance got too low he’d take the time to pass on the skills he’d learnt on the road. His lectures were sought after and always filled beyond capacity. He only went back every few years and almost every student wanted to attend. 

The other professors hated it, but Jaskier preened like a peacock every time. It was so good to be appreciated. He let students cram into the back of the room, it didn’t bother him if they weren’t officially in his class. Knowledge was to share. He just hoped his students could pass on what they’d learnt to their peers. 

This winter had been one such winter.

He’d adored the comforts of the university but his heart remained on the road, with Geralt. Geralt visited Oxenfurt in early spring and they’d been off. Jaskier had noticed that something had immediately been off with his friend. He’d known the witcher since he was a boy, and could read his expressions better than anyone else in the Continent. 

Something was bothering Geralt, but the bastard refused to share. He assumed it had something to do with Cirilla, the child surprise that Geralt had all but abandoned seven years ago… but that was seven years ago. Why now?

“Been back to Cintra lately?” He asked as Geralt start to make camp, not too far from the lake. Geralt snarled and glared at him. Jaskier put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Well, pardon me for asking!” 

“Well don’t.” Geralt growled. 

Jaskier pulled the bedrolls from Geralt’s arms and laid them out on the ground. This was an old routine at this point, setting up camp. They usually danced around each other without getting in each other’s way, Geralt had his jobs, Jaskier had his, but today they were off their rhythm. They had been all season. 

“I spent a few weeks there last winter, before I went to Oxenfurt.” Jaskier admitted quietly. 

Geralt froze in the middle of the half-made camp. “You did what?”

“I went as the Viscount de Lettenhove, not Jaskier the bard. I even grew a funny beard.” Jaskier laughed as he remembered his reflection. “I wore the most extravagant hat and cape. Oh my dear witcher, you would have laughed. Calanthe didn’t recognise me at all! Mousesack did, bloody druid, but he was too amused to give me away.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him as he started to removed Roach’s tack. “Why?”

“Curiosity mostly.” Jaskier admitted. “We’re partners, Geralt. Your decision affects both of us.”

“Hmm.” 

“Well, don’t you want to know what she’s like?” Jaskier grinned as he started to build the fire. 

“You’ll tell me whether I want to know or not.” Geralt grumbled. 

Jaskier watched his friend for a few minutes in silence as he finished arranging the firewood. Geralt was paler than usual with dark circles around his eyes. He really wasn’t himself. Jaskier crossed the camp and pulled the grumpy witcher into a hug. 

Geralt grunted but pulled Jaskier to his chest. 

“She’s brilliant, Geralt. The fire of Calanthe and the heart of Pavetta.” He said softly as he rested his chin on Geralt’s shoulder. “Calanthe won’t allow any talk of witchers in the castle, even my songs have been banned which is quite frankly rude, but Ciri is a curious child. She loves to play with fire. When I mentioned I knew a witcher, she wouldn’t let me go until she fell asleep.”

“She doesn’t know.” Geralt grunted. 

Jaskier pulled back from the hug and cupped Geralt’s cheek. “No, but I told her all I could about you without Calanthe finding out.” 

“I don’t understand you sometimes, bard.” Geralt scowled. “Calanthe threatened to hang us both.”

“I’d fight Calanthe over Destiny any day, dear heart.” Jaskier laughed. “Now come on, blast that firewood and I’ll go find us some dinner.” 

It didn’t take Jaskier long to find a couple of rabbits to cook over the fireplace. They were shot down easily with a well place arrow. Geralt prepared them for cooking and Jaskier set about making them edible with the herbs he insisted on carrying. Geralt had never been one to appreciate good food on the road. It had taken Jaskier all of two weeks to relieve Geralt of his cooking duties when they first started travelling together. 

“Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled after they’d finished eating and were staring into the flames of the fire together. 

Jaskier stopped strumming his lute and looked up across the fire at Geralt. “Yes, Geralt?” 

“Was she ok?”

Jaskier tilted his head and smiled at his friend before moving to sit next to him. He rested his head against Geralt’s shoulder. “Yes, she was more than ok.”

“Hmm. Good.” 

“Are you ok, Geralt?” Jaskier asked quietly.

“I can’t sleep.” He mumbled. “I get dreams.” 

Jaskier frowned and turned to face Geralt, his amber eyes glowing in the fire light. He looked majestic like this, powerful, inhuman but beautiful. “Dreams?”

“Green eyes, fire, death.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier brushed Geralt’s silver hair from his eyes and leant his forehead against the witchers. “That sounds terrible, Geralt.”

“Hmm.” Geralt agreed, his eyes closing as they relaxed into each other’s space. 

“How about a lullaby?” He asked in a whisper. 

Geralt pulled away slightly to glare at him. “I’m not a child, Jaskier.”

Jaskier pouted and pulled Geralt down so his head was in Jaskier’s lap. The witcher grumbled but allowed himself to be manhandled. “No, you are a grumpy witcher who needs a nap.” He threaded his hands into Geralt’s hair.

“Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

“At least allow me to try, Geralt.” He pleaded. 

“Fine.”

So Jaskier sang with his finger slowly carding through Geralt’s hair as he watched the flames. He sang the same lullaby that he’d sung to Ciri as she fell asleep. The green eyes from Geralt’s dreams were Ciri’s, Jaskier had no doubt about it. Ciri had mentioned having similar dreams, with yellow cat eyes instead of green. Destiny was pulling them together. Jaskier hoped his lullaby would have the same effect on Geralt as it did with young Ciri. 

Sure enough, Geralt was soon snoring gently in his lap. 

Jaskier gazed fondly down at his friend. He would struggle to sleep tonight but it didn’t matter, not for one night. 

* * *

Geralt swore when Jaskier, covered in his own blood, told him about Yennefer’s intention to use the damn djinn.

He regretted ever trying to find breakfast in that fucking lake. He regretted getting annoyed at Jaskier’s wittering nonsense and accidentally casting his first wish. He’d woken up with his head still in the bard’s lap, Jaskier leaning awkwardly over him as he slept sitting up, and it had stirred up some strange feelings in Geralt's chest. 

Feelings that he had been trying to ignore over the last few years.

It had left him feeling vulnerable and he’d lashed out. Jaskier’s life had almost been the price. 

And now the crazy witch was about to destroy hers. 

He was bitter that she’d enchanted him to do her bidding but she’d saved Jaskier’s life, he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t repay the favour now. 

“She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die.” He grumbled to his friend as he pushed him aside but Jaskier grabbed his hand. 

“Gods, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m coming with you.” His face was flushed and his eyes were blazing blue fire. 

“No.” Geralt argued.

“It wasn’t a question, Geralt.” Jaskier drew the silver dagger from his boots as if that would do any good against a djinn. “It was my life, not yours.”

Geralt scowled but pulled the bard inside the manor. 

Yennefer was a furious inferno of barely contained chaos. The whole bedroom was filled with that scent, lilac and gooseberries. He couldn’t fight the power of her magic, the perfume, but she was dying right in front of him. He had to… 

He had to wish. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier’s hand was on his cheek, blue eyes shining in the chaos of the room. “The wish! You can save her!” 

Geralt focussed on Jaskier’s eyes, on the sound of his voice. It pulled him through the magic haze of Yennefer’s perfumed magic. He focussed on the steady fast beat of the bard’s heart, on his soft honeyed chamomile scent.

And he wished. 

He wished that they all could be free of the djinn’s power and leave this house safely. 

The djinn flew up into the sky and the magic settled in the room. The perfume was still in the air, Geralt noticed that the bottle had shattered on Yennefer’s dresser. 

Geralt held Jaskier’s hand tightly, keeping himself grounded, keeping Yennefer out of his mind, as the house fell apart and the ceiling collapsed above them. Yennefer screamed and gripped onto his arm. Geralt felt a surge of magic around them, a portal. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier clung to him as they were pulled through.

The crumbling room disappeared. His medallion hummed against his chest as Yennefer and Jaskier both landed on top of him. 

Yennefer fell unconscious. Her raven hair covering her face, but Geralt could hear her heartbeat, could feel the cool tickle of her breath against his skin. 

She was alive. 

“Oh fuck!” Jaskier groaned. “Are we dead?” 

He peered up at Geralt. He had dust and debris in his hair, and there was still blood stains on his face and clothes but he was alive. 

They were all alive. 

No thanks to the djinn.

“Not dead.” Geralt leant back on the pillows.

“And the witch?” Jaskier asked as he looked to the mess of black hair. 

“Also not dead.” She mumbled against Geralt’s chest and then rolled over onto her back. “I nearly had it. Why did you stop me?” She snapped. 

“Oh hey now, we saved your life!” Jaskier sat up and glared at Yennefer. 

“You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me, bard!” Yennefer spat back. “And I did not ask to be saved. I was fine!” 

“Yeah well, you didn’t look fine.” Jaskier mumbled.

“Jaskier!” Geralt snapped. “Be nice.”

“Be nice?!” Jaskier cried. “Oh sure, I’ll be nice. I’ll be a fucking delight, as soon as she apologises for almost killing us!” 

“You didn’t have to come with me.” Geralt noted. 

Jaskier scoffed. “Fourteen years, Geralt. You never learn. I will always follow you.”

“Well isn’t that sweet.” Yennefer drawled. “Well, I’d love to stay but really, I don’t want to.” 

“Yennefer!” Geralt reached out for her arm before she portalled away.

“What?” She snapped. 

He gave her, what he hoped was a grateful smile. “Thank you, for everything.”

“You owe me, witcher.” She nodded and then disappeared. 

Jaskier fell back dramatically on the pillow with a sigh. “Well this will all make a rather spectacular ballad.” He yawned. 

“It was a shit show.” Geralt raised his eyebrow at his friend. 

“Hmm… yeah but magic, sexy witches, sexy bards and sexy witchers. Best ballad ever.” Jaskier mumbled as his eyes fluttered shut. 

Geralt huffed but it was too late. 

Jaskier was asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost finished!! Some cameo Yennefer in this chapter, I think we meet her again next chapter too. Anyhoo. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/) so woo. 
> 
> Til Next time 
> 
> \- Wolfie (I go by Wolfie now... so know that?)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact.... I was going to post this last night but ended up writing a dating show (Love Island?) AU instead. Oops.

Jaskier lunged at Ciri with his sword. The girl laughed and spun away in a pirouette before counter attacking. He parried her attack and flicked her sword from her hand. She yelled in frustration and stamped her foot. 

“Ahh. Stop doing that!” She growled. 

Jaskier let his sword dance in the air as he picked her sword up. “Well, hold your sword properly and you wouldn’t drop it so often.” He teased. 

Geralt chuckled as he came up behind them. Jaskier sheathed his sword and flung his arms around his witcher’s neck. “Geralt! You’ve come to join us at last, Vesemir finally let you down from the roof.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt buried his nose in Jaskier’s neck, a habit he’d picked up after the incident with the djinn that Jaskier had never built up the confidence to ask him about. “You used to hold your sword wrong too.” 

“Ha!” Ciri pointed her sword and the pair of them but Geralt used Quen to shield them from her attack.

Jaskier stuck his tongue out from behind the glowing bubble. Ciri smirked and threw her hands forward. They were knocked over like dolls. 

“Aunt Yennefer says your witcher signs are child’s play!” She giggled. “And I am a sorceress!” 

Jaskier groaned as he pulled himself up off the floor. “Why did we let Yennefer near Ciri again?” He asked weakly. 

“Because she needed a magic teacher and Yennefer is the best.” Geralt hummed. 

Ciri smirked and threw herself at Jaskier with her sword. He swore and rolled out the way. He just managed to draw his blade to block her next attack. “Monsters don’t wait for you to be ready!” Ciri shouted.

Geralt laughed as Jaskier defended the onslaught of her attacks. “Princesses do!” He argued.

“I’m not a princess!” She ducked under his sword and swiped her blade at his feet. 

He jumped over the attack and spun round, pulling his dagger from his boots. Over the years he’d decided he enjoyed the dance of having weapons in both hands. Geralt had bought him a shorter and lighter main sword to allow for the development in his style, and he often fought with a dagger in his second hand. 

He swiped at Ciri’s side with the dagger and her armour tore open, a red ribbon fell from the gap. It had been Yennefer’s idea. She’d been concerned about their training and general lack of concern for personal safety so she’d enchanted their training armour to mimic injuries whilst not allowing any harm to come to them, as long as their weapons were similarly enchanted at the time. 

“Haha!” He grinned. 

“Fuck!” She leapt back. 

“Ciri!” Geralt warned. “Don’t swear.”

Ciri growled and spun round to attack Geralt instead. Jaskier rolled his eyes but allowed the young witcher girl to swap sparring partners. Yennefer had almost bitten their heads off when she’d seen them ganging up on the girl last week, even though she’d insisted. He sheathed his weapons and pulled himself up to sit on the wall. 

Geralt used a combinations of signs and melee attacks. It was Ciri’s second winter with the witchers and she was lethal on the training ground now. There was no holding back anymore. 

Jaskier watched the pair of them spar. He couldn’t take his eyes off Geralt. He never could, not when Geralt didn’t know he was watching him. They’d been travelling together now for twenty-two years. He’d known the witcher for thirty-four years and yet Geralt never ceased to enchant him. Sure he’d had his own adventures without Geralt, particularly in his twenties but none of them held a candle to the ones where Geralt had been by his side.

Geralt was quite simply the most interesting man that he’d ever known. He was Jaskier’s best friend and their companionship was something no one else ever seemed to understand. Of course, to other people Jaskier played the foolish bard. It was easier to be underestimated and it had gotten them both out of trouble plenty of times when their enemies had focussed on Geralt entirely, not realising until their throats had been slit, that Jaskier was also armed and highly dangerous in his own right. Of course Jaskier’s indignant nature meant that he often got them into just as much trouble. He’d lost track of how many times Geralt had pulled him from a tavern or manor after he’d tried to start a fight when someone had insulted Geralt or witchers in general. 

Jaskier liked that he was useful to Geralt. It was one of the things he prided himself on. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He’d become a perfect travel companion to a witcher, and now he had a family in the witchers, in Ciri, even in Yennefer. 

She was sort of that sister that you really hated but would kill anyone else who tried to hurt her, and he was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. 

Ciri screamed and Geralt fell backwards across the courtyard. 

“Oh shit!” He hopped off the wall and ran to the witcher. “Geralt!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Ciri cried.

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face in his hands. There was blood staining his silver hair and running from him nose. “Come on, dear heart. Wakey wakey!” He cooed. 

Geralt groaned. “Fuck.” 

“Ah there we go. See, princess, no harm done.” Jaskier winked at the young girl. “It takes a lot more than that to take down the White Wolf.” 

“Jask?” Geralt slurred. 

“Yes darling?” He touched the cut on Geralt’s head lightly, pulling the hair apart. It wasn’t deep and wouldn’t need stitches. Geralt’s witcher healing would be enough. 

“Your turn.” He mumbled and passed out. 

* * *

Geralt woke up with a splitting headache and a dry throat. 

He grunted and tried to sit up but Jaskier pushed him back down. 

“Oh no. Stay down, my dear.” The bard sang. “You just got blasted by a fourteen year old girl.” 

“I am so sorry!” Ciri cried. “I just panicked!”

“I told her you’ll be fine.” Jaskier smiled brightly with a tilt of his head. “But I must say I am glad to see those beautiful eyes again, dear heart.”

Geralt grunted and sat up, pushing the bard away from him. “I’m fine, Jaskier.”

Ciri was staring at him with wide green eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Just a headache.” He pulled the young girl into a hug. “I’m sure Yen and the others will delight in this.”

Jaskier laughed melodically and lured Geralt into smiling back at him. “Oh yes, and naturally I already have two verses of a new song written.”

Geralt growled and knocked his friend off the bed. 

“Oi! Hey that’s not fair!” Jaskier pouted. 

Ciri was laughing now too, all fears forgotten. 

He hummed and smiled at the pair of them, his family. 

“Oh, Yennefer’s calling me.” Ciri said with a tilt of her head. “I’ll you at dinner, Geralt.”

Geralt nodded. Once she was gone he helped Jaskier up off the floor. The bard fell onto the bed and against Geralt’s chest. “Two verses?” He asked with a low chuckle. “You’re getting slow in your old age, Jask. I would have expected three by now.”

“Old age?!” Jaskier cried and scowled up at Geralt. “I am forty-two! That’s hardly old, witcher.”

Geralt scoffed. “Forty-two and still trailing round the continent after a witcher. Not bored yet?”

Jaskier pouted. “Of you? Geralt, never.”

The bard hummed under his breath as he curled up against Geralt’s chest. It wasn’t unusual. After so many years of travelling together, sharing beds when money was low or when it got cold at night, they’d become used to a lack of personal boundaries. 

Forty-two. 

Fuck. 

How many years did humans live for anyway?

“Jask?” Geralt hummed as he threaded his fingers through the soft chestnut hair. 

“Hmm?”

“What will you do when you get too old to travel?” He asked. 

Jaskier snorted. “I will get a cane, the type with a sword in, and you’ll have to carry me when I get tired.”

Geralt frowned. “I’m serious.”

“So am I!” Jaskier sniffed and raised his head to look up at Geralt. 

“Don’t you want to retire?” He asked, remembering what Jaskier had asked him all those years ago before the fated banquet. 

“Witchers don’t retire so neither will I.” Jaskier insisted with a smirk. “What’s gotten into you?”

Geralt hummed. “I hadn’t realised you were so old.”

Jaskier laughed. “Ah yes, well. I do look pretty good for my age.”

“You have me to thank for that.” Yennefer said from the doorway. She was smirking at them. “Took you long enough to notice.” 

“Yen? What?” Geralt growled. 

“Oh no. What did you do to me, witch?” Jaskier snapped, sitting up and peering at the sorceress suspiciously.

“I did what I was asked to do. I saved your life.” She raised an eyebrow. “Permanently.”

“The fuck?” Geralt asked.

Yennefer shrugged. “Your witcher seemed desperate, bard. I was feeling generous. I was wondering how long it would take you to realise though. Honestly, I thought you’d worked it out years ago. Unfortunately that does mean Geralt won’t be carrying you anywhere any time soon.”

Geralt stared between the sorceress and the bard in shock. “Hmm.”

Jaskier seemed equally flummoxed for once in his life. “I’m… immortal?”

“Of sorts.” Yennefer smirked. “As long as you don’t get killed. It’s an old spell, found in an old witchers’ keep. Witchers used to have companions, back before humans turned on them. The companions were meant to make the witchers seem more… approachable, less like the monsters people think they are. A witcher and their companion were linked by magic, prolonging the companion’s life to match their witcher.”

“So what, you just… linked me and Geralt?” Jaskier gaped. 

Yennefer nodded. “I didn’t think it would work. The spell was only supposed to work if the pair already had a deep emotional connection, which as I am sure you both know, is supposedly not easy for witchers due to the mutations. It’s why the companions ceased to exist and the spell was lost. An old friend of mine found it in the ruin years ago. I never thought I would have the chance to use it, and then you walked in dragging a bloody bard behind you.”

“Hang on!” Jaskier waved his hands. “A deep emotional connection?”

“That’s what the book said.” Yennefer nodded. 

“But Geralt barely acknowledges that we’re friends!” Jaskier pouted. 

Geralt groaned and pulled his pillow over his face. 

“Oh, Jaskier.” Yennefer sighed. “I can read minds. You have no idea!”

“Get out!” Geralt threw the pillow at Yennefer. She waved her hands and the pillow turned to dust. 

“Fine!” She grinned. “I was leaving anyway. Ciri is waiting for me.” She strode from the room, leaving Geralt to deal with the mess she’d created. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked quietly. “Umm… is this alright? I know you didn’t ask for this. You probably thought you’d be shot of me in a few years.”

Geralt nodded and tilted his head. “It’s fine. Are you ok?”

Jaskier hummed. “Yes. Sort of. It’s a lot to take in, the whole immortality thing.” He said with a wave of his hands. “But with you? I suppose it could be alright. Just another adventure really, isn’t it?” Jaskier’s smile shone brighter than the sun, lighting up the entire room and warming Geralt’s heart. 

Geralt nodded and Jaskier fell back against his chest with a contented sigh. Geralt felt himself smile.

Jaskier, the witcher’s companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of another story! Gosh we are getting through them now. :D One day I'll be able to stop writing but today is not that day. 
> 
> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> I'm also on [tumblr](https://jaskierswolf.tumblr.com/)
> 
> \- Wolfie


End file.
